***WARNING*** Strangenesss ahead. Mind death and implied snuff.
He didn’t permit Trash to ride in the front cab with him–no, George had brought along a dog carrier, just for this purpose. The bitch was too short to get up into the back of his truck, so George had to lift him up by the armpits, and the sensation of being held, helpless in the air, only cemented for Trash his new status, not even as a bitch, but as some kind of pet, a freak, a worthless, meaningless animal, especially when George padlocked him in, without another word. The crate was cramped–he could barely fit inside it–at first, though it grew more comfortable as he rode. The ride was long, about an hour, and Trash tried to sleep. But the crate was unsecured, and slid from one side of the truck bed to the other with each turn–and he thought his Master might be taking the turns a bit too hard, just to make it harder for him to relax. Finally, however, they came to a stop on a gravel drive–but George didn’t let the bitch out–he just dropped the back, grabbed the crate, and carried Trash into the house still inside it.
Inside, he carried Trash right down into the basement, to his dungeon, and only there, did he finally unlock the door, and allow Trash to crawl out of the crate–which was easier than getting in, because he’d shrunk once again, now only about three feet tall, his skin pale and hairless, arms bony. He felt like he was…disappearing, slowly. He may be worthless, but he didn’t want to disappear, he didn’t deserve that, did he?
He barely reached his master’s crotch now, and he watched George light himself a cigar, and sit down in a leather armchair with a sigh, “Bitch, lick my boots clean.”
The thought of disobeying didn’t even cross his mind anymore–he got down on his knees and started licking at the leather, though his small tongue barely covered any area of leather.
“You know bitch, you’re lucky–did you know that? Don’t you think so? After all, you have the privilege of serving a man–a real man like me, isn’t that right? Do you really think you’re worthy of such a privilege, someone as disgusting as you are?”
“N-No sir, no, of course not, I’m the luckiest bitch, I really am,” Trey said.
George puffed on his cigar for a few minutes, considering a few possibilities, before saying, “Do you…admire me slave?”
“I…I do, sir.”
“Yes, I suppose you would, but a true bitch, no, you aren’t even a bitch, really, are you? Even bitches don’t ride around in crates, even bitches aren’t as small as you are. You’re just my pet, my obedient, dumb, desperate pet, eager to please, utterly dependent on me to provide for you. But I wouldn’t want a pet that looks like you–no, a proper pet takes after it’s owner, don’t you think? I mean, you certainly can’t be a man like I am, but if you really did admire me, I think you’d want to look like me right, Trash? No, it doesn’t even matter what you want to look like–that’s just what you are. All pets are simply reflections of their owners, you couldn’t look any different even if you were capable of thinking otherwise.”
George sat up and bent down, grabbing Trash and pulling him up. He was much heavier than before–not too heavy to lift, of course, but the bulging, hairy gut he’d sprouted had doubled his weight. His face and head was coated with white hair, and his face, while still…humanesque, no longer had any real sense of self, his eyes glued to George’s face, filled with wonder and love, wrinkled with age like George’s own.
“What would you like boy, you want to make your master happy?”
Trash whined. George lined him up with his hard cock, and slipped his pet onto him, his ass opening wide and taking him easily, George’s cock pressing deep into his body, giving him some discomfort, but Trash could handle it. For him, for his Master, he would do anything.
“Yes, such a good pet,” George said, sliding him all the way down onto his cock, and leaving him impaled there, stroking his fat hairy body, “So stupid. Do you even realize that, without me, your existence wouldn’t even matter? That I am the reason you exist, the only thing in the world that cares about you? That without me, you’d just wither away? I’m not your Master. I’m not your owner. I’m your god. You worship me. My pleasure is the only reason you exist. To me, you’re little more than an object to please me–so please me, suck the cum from me with your worthless body.”
Trash’s hairy, fat began to jiggle, clutching at the cock buried inside him trying as hard as it could to squeeze the huge cock inside it. It’s arms were withering–it no longer needed them. It’s legs, too, disappeared, it’s body contracting squeezing as hard as it could, slowly milking it’s god, growing smaller, feeling the cock take up more and more of it’s body, allowing it to constrict harder and tighter, it’s body focusing around it’s now singular purpose–to bring as much pleasure to this godly man as it could. Finally, it heard a roar–cum filling it’s body–it had succeeded, it had done what it was made to do. It was good.
George reached down, and pulled Trash free from his cock, and set it on his massive belly. It was now less than a foot tall, it’s arms and legs gone. He could feel the body still trying to suck, it’s inside cavity coated with cum–he petted it’s hairy body with two fingers, feeling it shiver with pleasure, it’s face melting into the body as it shrank. “It’s time. The only purpose you have now is to join with me. Become a part of your god, it’s the only thing you have left to do.”
He kept stroking. He could see the last bit of it fighting, struggling against what it knew it must do. It shrank smaller and smaller, now just an inch, looking like a hairy nipple in the midst of his belly, and soon he couldn’t see it at all–it had become shapeless, microscopic, nothing at all, now that it was simply a part of him. George sighed, and stroked his belly, satisfied. It was what he’d deserved, after all. Small men like that, small weak men who could only hurt others, the only thing they deserved was to be nothing at all.
Bracken's Corner 